


Like Water

by illwynd



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Crying, Feelings, Frottage, M/M, Praise Kink, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illwynd/pseuds/illwynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor figures out how to get through to his brother at last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Water

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably ridiculous but I wanted to write it so here we are. Enjoy!

Loki had no idea how he had gotten here. Of all the things that could have ever occurred in his life, he had expected this the least, but at the moment he could hardly care.

He had his brother’s weight in his lap, his brother’s hands cupping his face as he whispered to him, his brother’s soft murmur in his ears saying things that Loki had not known (would not have admitted even to himself) that he needed to hear.

“You are so good, brother. You need not prove a thing, for it is already clear to me how good you are, how deserving of every reward.”

Just yesterday they had been fighting, just yesterday in his wrath he had been destroying whatever he could grasp of Midgard, but instead of his usual affronted outrage, Thor had shouted his disappointment, and Loki had retreated to his lair after, licking his wounds but with an itch growing under his skin.

_Disappointed? Disappointed?_ some part of him hissed and spat.

It itched until he had to go to Thor to tell him so, to demand Thor rescind his words. He meant to go there with threats and violence and an icy gaze but ended up pacing the length of Thor’s chambers on that realm, near bursting with anger while Thor’s worried eyes followed his every move.

“What right do you have to be disappointed?” Loki snarled. “I spent a thousand years trying to live up to your image, to Odin’s expectations, to Asgard’s standards, and I was never good enough. A thousand years, Thor! A thousand years of watching you be praised and lauded and admired, while I was ignored! Why should I struggle hopelessly for an aim I will never achieve? Why should you have any right to berate me for that failure, or to speak to me of it at all? _What right do you have_?”

It wasn’t until he fell silent that he felt the wetness on his cheeks, the burning in his eyes, and he turned, wanting to flee, wanting to hide.

He didn’t know how he’d gotten here from there, except that it had involved Thor halting him, looking at him in a way he was sure his brother had never looked at him before, hand to Loki’s shoulder, and then asked Loki to sit and talk. _Please. For him._

And now, Loki had no idea how long it had been since sitting beside one another and talking had turned into Thor maneuvering closer—Loki had been alarmed at first, uncertain what Thor meant to do in such near proximity, awkwardly flattening himself against the back to the seat with wide eyes only for Thor to scoot himself into Loki’s lap. Loki had been alarmed, confused, almost frightened—

“My brilliant brother. My clever, strong, beautiful Loki. My good boy,” Thor said now from that same position, stroking his hands down Loki’s hair as if to soothe him, running them down his neck, his shoulder.

It should have seemed ridiculous. But instead Loki didn’t want it to end. He didn’t want to move in case that caused Thor to cease. And at the same time it hurt more than anything Loki had ever experienced, and he had his brother’s solid, warm weight pinning him where he was so he could not think of running away, so he could do nothing at all about the way his body reacted to the misery filling his chest. It was a feeling like a congestion of tears that could not flow, a feeling in his chest like tension and one in his belly like emptiness, a hunger for something he could never have named.

“My good boy,” Thor repeated, and Loki hardly cared that he was saying much the same things in endless variations.

Never had he been praised like this. Not for his meager victories, where even the rare nods of approval he did win felt like far too little reward for the endless, hopeless toil he put into the effort, like scraps when the feast had always gone to his brother already. Not praise he was already too worn down and embittered to enjoy. But praise flowing over him like water, freely. Praise for which he did not need to strive, given because he was Loki and that was enough.

Thor stroked his hair and kissed his face, gazed into his eyes and smiled at him and told him he was good. That he was loved. That he was valued.

It hurt and it felt so good it ached, and Loki gazed up into his brother’s eyes as well. There was a reason he had always tried to live up to his brother’s example, a reason why he had wanted to be his equal, and that reason was in the feeling he had now of being pinned beneath a god, beautiful and smiling and proud.

It felt wonderful and it ached terribly. It was glorious and it filled him with a flood of anxious panic, a lapping, rising tide. He wanted to arch up into Thor’s touch and flinch away from it, hide his face.

_He was_ not _good, and what in the realms could have changed for this to be happening to him right now, when he had never deserved such a thing before?_

Loki almost laughed; he definitely squirmed as the words seeped into his skin. And he could not tear his eyes away from Thor’s as he continued to tell Loki such unbelievable, impossible things.

_How he would ever survive going back to the state of constant deprivation, of bone-dry thirst, after he’d drunk his fill like this?_

The tenderness in the tips of Thor’s fingers on his cheek made him want to run, to flee to safety, away from this feeling, too good to be real. Too good to be permitted to _him_.

But he had no choice but to remain there and let Thor lavish him this way, for his brother would not be denied. Loki was helpless in the face of that.

And he was helpless to the other sensation that was growing up inside him in the mingling of terror and aching misery and sweetest pleasure and need. His body writhed with the conflicting feelings, and he could not do anything about what they became: arousal, physical and urgent and shameful, as his brother petted his hair and whispered praise to him and smiled down at Loki’s awestruck face.

He knew Thor knew it. Thor could not help but feel the thickening twitch beneath him. Thor’s eyes had met his when it happened, when he first started to harden under the barrage of those adoring words, and the corner of Thor’s mouth had turned up—without surprise, without dismay, taking it in stride as if it were the only possible reaction to this situation, and he shifted his weight to make it all impossible to deny. To make it clear that he wanted this show of Loki’s reaction to his words. That he would not shun him even over that.

“My good Loki, my beloved brother,” Thor repeated while Loki stared at him wide-eyed.

Loki had been breathless with shock as Thor began shamelessly rocking his hips while he spoke his praises and gentled Loki with caresses and bent to press chaste kisses to his brow. And more so as he felt Thor’s body warming in the same way, his growing erection pressing against Loki’s belly through their clothes at the sound of Loki’s quiet, pained whimpers and strained, quick breaths. Soon they were rubbing against each other mindlessly to the rhythm of Thor’s words, caught up in the aching, endless pleasure of it, of giving and receiving such approval.

It was all so impossible that Loki did not know what to do except to give in and take whatever Thor would give.

*

He did not know how long it went on, except that he was on the edge the entire time, the feeling different from anything he had experienced before, the keenness of pain and yet every cell in his body singing, straining to deserve the words, even as Thor insisted he already did. The confusion of it was torment, and he never wanted it to end.

Thor had gotten more creative in his praises as the hours passed. He had recited every tiniest detail of him that Thor loved, every action that Loki had believed Thor never noticed. He told him how he loved his tricks, his wit, his words. How he adored the curve of Loki’s lips and the grace of his hands when he cast a spell, the danger in the glint of his eyes when he had a brilliant, wicked idea. Loki felt barely able to breathe from it. He blinked a thousand times, and then Thor’s lips were upon the tender skin of his cheeks, kisses drinking Loki’s tears, making Loki's heart race.

“I love everything about you, brother. You are so, so good. So worthy,” he murmured between such kisses.

_Worthy_. Something in Loki’s chest twisted, like a knife, and his vision blurred yet more. “Worthy,” he repeated in a pained gasp, and he felt himself fumbling for Thor’s hand, stopping its progress in stroking down his neck once more. “Now I _know_ you’re lying to me. I have never been worthy, and what I have become is as far from it as it is possible to be. I’m a _villain_. I’ve tried to kill you, and done many other evils besides. You know that, so don’t…”

It could almost have been frightening, the speed and ferocity with which Thor broke out of his hold and placed his hands upon him again in the oldest grip Loki knew, the one in which Thor held him still with one hand on the juncture of neck and shoulder and the other cupped around the back of his head so that he could not turn away. Blue eyes sparked with lightning, and Thor growled deep in his chest, so deep that Loki felt the vibrations of it.

“I’m not lying. Listen to me when I speak, brother: you are good, you are worthy, and I care not what you have done or what you have become.”

Loki tried—jaw set, eyes hard, he tried to hold tight to the reality that made _sense_. The one in which he was not worthy and never had been and never would be and it didn’t matter because he didn’t _care_ , because he enjoyed his villainy.  _Preferred_ it. Loki _tried_ , the twisting pain in his chest beginning to throb. He shook his head, tried to look away.

But Thor did not let him, eyes fixed upon him, warm weight pinning him in place. “ _Listen_ to me. You are so good, and you should not have had to wait this long to hear it. You were wronged when this was denied to you. So you must listen now, until you know it in your bones.”

Loki made no more attempts at resistance, then, for his brother was stubborn and would not be denied.

*

It would take more than a few hours, though, for him to come to know it in his bones, and Loki half expected Thor would grow bored of the task long before completing it.

Yet when his own eyelids began to droop, Thor wrapped powerful arms around him for a moment, holding him in silence, breathing.

“Will you stay here with me tonight?” Thor asked. “We both require rest, but I do not want to see you leave yet.”

What harm could it do? Loki could not any longer pretend he had any villainous pride that would be harmed by spending the night cuddled up beside his brother. And if he were honest, there was nothing else he wanted more. So he nodded.

Thor led him to the bedchamber, dimmed the lights, and they both stripped down enough for comfortable sleep in the quiet. Thor folded down the heavy blanket, the dark blue sheets, made a gesture inviting Loki in, and Loki obeyed, sliding between the layers of cool, crisp fabric.

Thor’s bed was huge and soft, his pillows copious, and what made Loki sigh most deeply was that it all smelled like him.

Then the light flicked off and Thor climbed in beside him.

“Sleep well, brother. I love you,” Thor said.

With some difficulty, Loki gathered his voice to answer. “I… love you too. Good night, Thor.”

But he lay blinking up at the ceiling.

Five minutes later, a soft rustling beside him. “Loki?”

“Hm?”

“Are you still… um… up? I mean…” Thor cleared his throat awkwardly. “Are you…?”

Loki was glad for the darkness, for he was undoubtedly blushing. It had been one thing in the moment. It was another to hear Thor refer to it now. But it was undeniable. He was, and Thor would have surely heard the lie in his voice if he tried.

“Yes. Mostly.”

A deep, contented sigh. “Then come here.”

A tight anticipation as Loki rolled to his side, to feel his brother on his side likewise so that they lay face to face in the dark. And Thor put his arm around Loki’s bare waist and pulled until they were slotted together, only the thin, soft layers of their shirts and underclothes between them. And Loki was then very aware that Thor was still mostly hard also, the heady, electric feeling when they brushed against each other.

“Is this alright?” Thor asked, hesitant, holding him close but not tightly so.

Loki almost laughed. “Probably not, _brother_.”

Thor huffed. “Nay, I mean, is this what _you_ want?”

And strange to say, Loki actually had not thought about it before. He did not know how to answer. Except that having Thor pressed against him like this, the arousal from before came rushing back, pooling within him so rapidly it ached. So he nodded, breathless.

Loki did not yet believe he was worthy, but he knew who was, and to have his brother beginning to move, rocking his hips against Loki’s... to know that Thor wanted to be near him like this, to do this with him—it was almost better than the words.

Thor’s breaths were shaky in the silence, and he buried his fingers in Loki’s hair, tilting his head and bringing their lips together. _Kissing him_ , soft and uncertain at first, and then deeper, Thor’s tongue sliding against his. The intimacy of Thor’s hand on the small of his back, and the way it stroked lower, pausing to touch and squeeze before urging him to wrap his leg around Thor’s so they could each rub against the other’s thigh.

Loki obeyed each gesture, wanting to be good. Wanting to deserve Thor’s love and attention and desire. And when Thor began to gasp against his lips from the sweetness of the friction, Loki let himself wrap his own arm around his brother and rut against him, gazing at Thor’s face, all faint outlines in the darkness of the room. The glint of his eyes gazing back, so that they were watching each other between kisses, a current carried undeniably between them so that he did not need to hear it.

_So good, brother._

The same ache in his throat, the same dense, throbbing pain filling his belly, and it overflowed in one great shivering rush that wrung a few more tears from his eyes and left him spent.

Loki slept almost immediately afterward, after feeling Thor shudder against him likewise and then take a few heavy breaths before rearranging them so that Loki was held in Thor’s embrace.

“Sleep now,” Thor murmured against his ear.

Loki nodded and did as he was told.

*

Loki woke in the morning to find Thor still lying curled beside him, his smile as warm, as soft, as bright as the sunlight streaming across them.

“Good morning,” Thor said, and only then did Loki realize that their fingers were folded together on the bed between them, hands gently clasped.

Loki stared at him, and he swallowed and could not say a word, fighting the impulse to bolt, to never be seen again. The events of the prior day had rushed back all at once, and with them shame, filling Loki until he felt almost lightheaded, almost ill.

He had turned into putty in Thor’s hands for just a few kindly words, just a little bit of praise. He had begun by going to expend his rage at him and ended up docile, awestruck, going along with everything Thor said just because Thor had told him he was good. It was horrifying. He could not ever let anyone know. He had to do something now to wipe even the memory of it away, to show that he had certainly not been sincere, to prove that he was not so weak as that, something…

“If you will stay and have breakfast with me, we can continue where we left off,” Thor added, with another little squeeze to Loki’s hand, another little twitch of his smile.

And how could he ever hope to resist?

So Loki was still not sure how he had gotten here.

But he did know why he stayed.

***


End file.
